Beneath a Moonless Sky
by TheMiner'sCanary
Summary: The Doctor and Clara angered a ferocious wilder beast, and they encounter a mysterious stranger who seems to be trying to help... Heavy on the description, focus on adventure...suspense has been deemed "somewhat cruel." Enjoy! Comments requested :) first fic, thanks everybody
1. Chapter 1: The Retreat

_Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any associated characters, nor do I have any connections with BBC America._

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Clara and the Doctor were running.

4 feet flattening paths in silver grain

3 hearts pounding

2 species fleeing

1 predator.

Clara chanced a glance over her shoulder to judge the distance between her and the…_What had the doctor called it? Veelshkae or Virosha or something._ Whatever it was, she certainly did not want to meet it like this.

Out the corner of her wide, adrenaline-dilated cinnamon eyes, she could see an immense shadow barreling towards them, parting knee-high blades of silver wisps with ease. The Doctor was just behind her. She could barely hear his labored huffs over the rustles and snaps of the shining grain.

Breaths coming ragged in the chilled evening air, she snapped her head forward and focused on running faster. Faster because too slow was to be vulnerable and everything she'd done would come crashing down to a bitter end. The soles of her feet ached from beating the compacted, chilled ground, and she could feel her Sketchers cracking at the sides of her feet. In her mind's eye, she saw herself giving up, stumbling into the peculiar blades of grass, and maybe giving a defeated wail…No. She was Clara Oswin Oswald, the Impossible Girl, and she could do this. She remembered giving herself a similar pep-talk in the mirror of her vanity, after a particularly brutal, sweaty, unforgiving run with her boyfriend. Giving up was not an option. She'd bested much harder things before.

_I guess those jogs with Danny did some good_…and his face filled her mind.

The coffee complexion, the way his warm eyes were curious but never pushed…She saw his lips part and smile in her mind's eye…he was laughing at a story she'd told him, the one about the boy in her Gifted and Talented English class who'd asked if Shakespeare was "…some buff Spartan from that one movie," because he'd associated Shake-spear(e) with the infamous THIS IS SPARTA meme. Danny's soft chortling had turned to a hearty laugh, his close-cropped head now thrown back as if she'd done something hilarious, adorable, or both. _Oh, Danny…_

Allowing her weary face to curl into a small smile, Clara's newfound impetus banished the dark thoughts like the flame of a soft candle. "CLARA!" panted the Doctor, his Scottish accent fragmented in heavy breaths. He called to her as he ran under the white evening sun, urgency apparent in his rough voice. "We need to split up-run separate ways. The wee beasty will have to choose who to run after."

Clara thought it logical, so she didn't bother to argue…until "But Doctor, it'll have to choose one way or another. One of us will be pursued alone! We can't-"

"Clara, listen to me," he huffed "the Vilroushka will chose whichever prey it thinks it can catch the easiest. It'll take one look and think me an old, easy target. You'll have the chance to run safe to the TARDIS-" he was cut off with a shriek of protest from Clara's direction.

"NO! I will not leave you here as bait!"

Rolling his eyes and staring up into the layered amethyst-lavender sky, he cursed internally at the stubborn planet of the apes from whence she came. The pudding brains never listened all the way before exploding into pointless resistance like the stubborn children that they were.

"Let me finish," he said through whistling, gritted teeth, "Once you are on board the TARDIS there is a dial to the first left of the antimatterclaustrophobicphosphatylalonsybowtie2210flourecentlavalamp ionic hydrometer that you must set to exactly X-4439 RMC's. Hit the blue button directly beneath it and it'll cause reverse transmittal interference within 2 feet of a TARDIS key and reverse the landing technology to call the key directly to the TARDIS."

As usual, the Doctor said this all very quickly in his gruff Scottish accent, not to mention panting with the exertion of sprinting from a wilder beast through the rustles of silver-infused grain…but Clara was pretty sure she knew where everything was. She was about to ask the last digit of the code when the deafening roar of a vengeful Vilroushka sounded uncomfortably close behind them. "NOW!" ordered the Doctor as he veered hard to the right.

She heard his bellow faintly; the cacophonous ringing of the animal's multiple-octave roar assailing her ears. It had been unlike any sound she'd heard before…though it did sound a bit like the war cry of one of those dragon creatures from that spin on Disney's Pocahontas a few years ago…what was that name…Avatar. Yes, that's it, she reasoned, before veering left to create further distance from her and the Doctor. X-4439, she repeated, feet aching, temples pressured with the dull throb of dehydration and an unfamiliar atmosphere.

The trusty blue box had been parked beneath a tree radiating shadows and spinning webs of colorless light. The Doctor had told her it was a tree made of nothingness, for lack of a better word. It was spun with the same nothing space itself was made of, with the exception of the energy tendrils that syphoned electrons from deep within the planet's crust. Its twin could be found at the heart of a timeless forest where the unlikely trio had emerged into the strange industrialized-agricultural meadow. Although, an argument could be made that the tree was the heart of the forest and meadow itself.

But there was a chase on. Clara chanced a second glance over at the beast they had accidentally upset, feet pounding hard into the now rocky-terrain. She missed the soft, prickling blades. To her surprise, the beast had stopped. Come to a dead halt, actually. She saw the Doctor running in the distance, looking backwards as well.

The Vilroushka reared on peppered white hind legs, its front black-razored paws hanging innocently like those of a kangaroo. It stood nearly 9 feet tall, supporting an elongated, panther-like head set with 4 dark eyes. It's slim, mauve, cat-like nose sniffed both of its prey's polemic directions before choosing its path of pursuit.

Clara forced her neck to straighten her straying eyes to the terrain directly ahead, cold fear seeping into her frantic heart. Something told her things would not go as they planned. Recognizing the inverse-shadow of a tree made of everything and nothing, Clara bolted to the dimensionally-transcendental space and time ship that would mean her safety. This time, her impetus was not of warm, heart-felt memories, but of the animal instinct to survive.

She felt a wave of cold sweat trickle from her neck and beneath her clingy tank-top with a shiver. She felt her eyes dilate further, now wide and austere with alertness.

She felt her heart jump to her throat, constricting her breaths for an infinite second.

She felt her thoughts flash out of existence, her focus snapping to the task at hand.

She felt alive.

Another shriek of the wild Vilroushka sounded across the silver savannah, a smoky purple sky brewing ahead. The heat-less, white sun was obscured from view with broiling fuchsia clouds, casting a musty glow of inevitable doom over the wild panther's newest victim.

The victim who felt so alive.


	2. Chapter 2: An Unlucky Hand

The Doctor slowed as he saw the massive head of the silvery panther rise to sniff the jagged evening air, casting a liquid shadow across now-razor silver slivers. His hearts thumped harshly with the gravity of the situation, nearly causing him to stumble backwards on weakening legs and paining knees. Old age never did much for running.

His hearts in his dry throat, he swallowed the thick, foul-tasting saliva threatening to choke him now his focus was not on propelling his being as far away as possible. As far away as possible to give Clara enough time to save him…but that's not how the universe decided to play.

The twin suns fell to an exaggerated twilight within the minute of the beast's analysis of its prey, looking for all the world like both predator and unforeseen prey were being blocked of the necessary light….perhaps by a giant card or two. A hand, maybe. His whole plan had been a gamble, and he cursed himself now for that. _Come on then you, take the weak old man over the young female. Make it easy on yourself you great ba-_The beast's head turned to him. He felt its 4 eyes boring into his chest, though the lilac night was impeding his vision. A twang of dread sliced the Doctor's hearts, a string now snapped, a chord played with an improvised accidental he had not seen coming-for the beast's head turned

_away. Of course you did. You're not tired in the least bit are you. Either of us would be an easy dinner, she's simply the tastier of the two. _Though he predicted a dark turn of events-aside from the coming of a moonless night- the Doctor hoped the Vilroushka would chose him. He'd thought this deal was easy, thought his decoy was enough to fool the beastie, but now he doubted his hand. He'd been certain he'd played an ace, a king or queen at the least.

He watched the panther's decision with bated breath, in slow motion; his hearts the drums and the duo pulse of his blood the echoes of a lone timpani.

The great cat's ears flicked and the slender jaw ground its teeth…he contemplated his hand.

The peppered face turned to him once more. A 7 of hearts? This is what he lived for-the anticipation, the essence of suspense and the unknown. He licked his parched lips, eyes flashing, daring the creature to make any move whatsoever, because he'd be there.

Watching. Stalking. Waiting. Living.

He felt alive.

It's front paws hit the sliver slivers, incredibly, with two imperceptibly soft thumps. Incredibly, because they were nearly the size of trash can lids.

Those claws alone could individually match the size of his entire hand, spidery fingers and all…

4 of clubs…?

The tail flicked upwards in a pensive, fluid motion. The Doctor stood frozen in the frosted twilight.

_3 _of_ hearts_

It bent on all fours in preparation for an awesome pounce in some unfathomable direction.

His palms sweated with anxiety.

2 of clubs

His confidence dwindled, seemingly carried off with a subtle breath of wind disturbing the grain. It flickered in the strange lilac-twilight night.

The Vilroushka's head turned heavily towards the Doctor-

An Ace!

He leaned into another step to resume his trek, grinning manically. His triumphant demeanor faded at the sound of another multiple-octave shriek of the wild Vilroushka…and he turned.

For the shriek had not been directed at him.


	3. Chapter 3: Running with Time

_/Hey sorry about the wait, I blame it on my lack of fanfiction-ing experience_

_...I forgot to hit Publish after I uploaded it-thanks for your patience/_

"NunununoNONONONO! Come back here, you!" The Doctor raked his spidery fingers over gray curls. _Damn!_ He stood helpless as the silver panther sped away into the night, chasing his companion instead of him. Bending with his hands on his knees, the Doctor peered straight ahead as the last of the wilder beast's cries reverberated through the stillness of the meadow. Ghosts of plans flicked behind his vision with the speed of moving pictures, each stratagem fading away at the merest inclination of doubt.

An unlucky hand, indeed.

If he followed, the ravenous panther would devour them both. If he circled 'round, the beast would surely see him on the flat meadow, its native terrain. It's not like he'd be able to catch up with it anyway. Using the screwdriver to sound a frequency to irritate the Vilroushka would be no laughing matter either, as its multiple-octave shrieks would make the correct frequency nearly fatal to humanoids. The timelord, as usual, was running out of time. Perhaps he could cheat- peek into the future…Concentrating in the most purple of nights, he corrected himself.

The Doctor was not running out of time; he was running into it. And alongside it. And behind it, and under, and over, and every which way…always running as fast as time itself. For that instant, time did fly, and he soared alongside it...but there was a clouded area in the near future. One of those devilish little storms that never let him see what he needed. His audacious attitude beforehand now melted unpleasantly to a trepidation he was not familiar to possessing. Allowing a vexed sigh of defeat to escape his parched lips, the Doctor looked across the silver meadow as if searching for the answer between the blades of industrialized agriculture.

He hoped Clara wouldn't revert to that human practice of "playing dead." This panther was far superior to any bear or mountain lion found on her world.

She couldn't run forever, he knew…

Shutting his eyes tight, he severed those branches of thoughts forcefully, marking them out-of-bounds for Clara's sake as much as his own. He could not lose this Clara, because there were no more copies. He knew she was the original, but sometimes…sometimes he doubted that. Maybe he hoped.

Hanging his weary head, the Doctor sifted through other means of wriggling out of this dilemma.

He had wire in his pocket…a sonic Taser?

A soft breeze carried the scent of the Dostriov-blossom natural gardens where he'd been planning to end their Wednesday. The Doctor knew his digressions were wasting precious time...

He wondered how long Clara would last.

His eyes wandered to his best friend's form receding into the night, the Vilroushka in distant pursuit. Another ghost flits across his mind, and he's spurred into action with the piercing tone of Clara's terrified plea for assistance, advice, anything. "_Doctor!_ _WhatdoIdo?_" Though her clear shout sounds powerful through the crisp, night air, he can hear the physical exertion threatening to crack her voice.

Already sprinting to the black jungle where earlier they had disturbed the Vilroushka's nest, the Doctor bellowed his reply with a sly grin stretched across his face. "_Run!_"


	4. Chapter 4: A Not-So Thrilling Chase

Clara rolled her eyes in disdain at his useless-but pragmatic-response. _Really? Run? That's all you got for me I'VE BEEN FLIPPIN' RUNNING THE ENTIRE DAY! _If he'd been within distance, he would have received a well-deserved smack and the best teacher-look she could muster. Breaths coming in deep gasps, she pressed further, focusing on her footwork. It would not do to trip now.

Her still-frantic heart hammered in her ears, forcing high-pressured blood through her pulsing neck…she knew she was slightly dehydrated. Maybe that's why every—single—heartbeat thrummed so deeply and forcefully she could feel it pound through her veins without the need to physically touch the straining pulse of her neck. And everything ached…her aching muscles screamed for oxygen, were practically Sirens lost in a puddle of rain. The chilled oxygen she gasped was beckoned to the indefatigable monsters, never to satisfy their needs, their hunger. Her finish line in sight, she pressed on, hardly able to ignore the burning protests of her limbs.

After checking the next few feet were clear of obstacles, she whipped her head around to track her progress against the beast. The Vilroushka snarled, its spine contracting loosely to allow its enormous, peppered, muscled limbs to reach forward, for her. It was making twice the distance in the same amount of time, obvious for the savannah cat. A sick feeling in her stomach told her it wouldn't be very long before…

And that's when she saw a flash of red shooting horizontally across her vision under the starlight. Multiple flashes of the red silk she felt like she'd known forever but had only just met…The lapels of the Doctor's jacket shone in snatches across the alien terrain, forcing the corners of her open mouth to curl into an ecstatic grin delirious from exhaustion.

The Vilroushka seemed to take this as its prey bearing its teeth, and flashed its double set of ink-black eyes with a menacing yowl.

Clara whipped her head forward as the noise sent a cold shiver down her sweaty neck. The animal instinct returned anew, prompting her to run harder. She jarred her ankles with each step, trusting in the Doctor to complete whatever clever thing he'd thought up with the utmost possible speed. _He just needs time,_ she told herself, and her will power was the only thing she could contribute at the moment. Spurred on by the confidence in her best friend, she raised her chin a little higher and shoved past the constricting muscles in her chest that seemed intent on making her breaths come short and painfully.

Clara surveyed her race course. The viscous purple night seemed to be creeping towards her, even though she knew, for a fact, she was the one rushing through _it_. Restless shadows appeared to flicker in the reflections of the silver terrain, the rocks surrounded with writhing tendrils of darkness and nothingness. The twin space-tree's black outline grew fainter as the natural night rolled in, leaving her guide to be the windows, sign, and light on top of that lovely police box parked beneath it.

All the same, the liquid shadows felt like they were watching her, stalking her, waiting for her…One mesmerizing possibility flickered across her exhausted, oxygen and water deprived mind…the shadows were living. _Clara Oswin Oswald, you listen to _me, she thought to herself, _never you mind if the shadows are alive. And just because they are-MAY BE-it doesn't mean they want to eat you too. You're just making this up because you're tired. They aren't actually moving. You are, so FOCUS! _She mentally screamed the last bit, as she nearly misjudged the height of a red boulder that seemingly sprang out of nowhere. Forcing the thought out of her mind, she tunneled her vision to the police box beacon near the imperceptible space-tree.

She felt as if she was looking through a port hole on a silver sea, the lantern atop the blue lighthouse her way to safety and home and a nice cuppa…Her world began to rock and sway with the waves of the metallic ocean, the porthole growing dimmer…

...until a sudden motion of her right arm gave her a stiff clip of the jaw, rudely awakening her with a bit tongue that caused hot tears to simmer in the corners of her eyes. She'd veered off course a couple degrees in her alarming power nap, unbalancing her. _Like the Doctor said,_ she allowed a weak chuckle internally, _standing-up catnaps._

The TARDIS' light shone clear in the chilled, deep purple night; the far reaches of the circumference illuminated the future obstacles Clara would have to avoid, revealing a patchy transition of the silver grain to uneven redstone. If the wonderful blue police box had not been parked dutifully under the nonexistent shade of the space tree, Clara doubted she'd ever have found it. A stark black statue for the light, and a beacon for the dark.

Almost there. She could hear the Vilroushka gaining, her heart thumping 4 times the speed of the steady bounds of its powerful legs. Her aching legs began to tremor with each impact of the panther's ginormous paws. The TARDIS was unbearably close, the wild panther unbearably closer. It was difficult to keep upright with the miniature earthquakes assailing the ground, her ankles already sore and weakened from running on the unforgiving stone-like earth. Earth? She'd forgotten the name of the planet. But never mind that, she's being chased by a 9-foot long wilder beast in the dead of an alien night.

_Oh, please be open please please please plea-_she sobbed mentally, pulling the TARDIS key from her sweaty tank top just in case the door was locked. She never found out if it was.


	5. Chapter 5: A Costly Vanishing Act

The mammoth white panther pounced, landing where Clara had been just seconds before.

The impact of its full weight was enough to unbalance Clara at last, sending her sprawling on the rugged stone, skidding to a halt on her right side in agony; her flesh had been raked the full distance of her exposed right arm and leg with the pain every child remembers vividly from a tragic bike ride or first pair of rollerblades, multiplied exponentially by the sheer _length_ of the exposed skin on rough stone, coupled with the speed she couldn't decide whether to regret or applaud in her current situation.

Breathing heavily through her teeth to keep from yelling in pain, Clara attempted to scramble to the TARDIS door, a mere 6 feet away. As soon as she regained a fraction of her height, a paw the size of a trash can lid swept her off her feet, simultaneously winding her and propelling her to tumble downwards towards the space tree.

Tossed like a rag doll, Clara landed unevenly with a ragged gasp on its roots, nearly invisible in the purple night had it not been for the occasional spiral of golden energy or flashing white stars. For something so abstract, the system could not have been more concrete, much to the dismay of Clara's back, neck, and head. Her spine protested, and muscles were stretched in ways they were not meant to be stretched. The force of the blow had caused startling whiplash, and she couldn't tell if the stars dancing in her eyes were the in tree or her clouded mind.

In a narrowed, dream-like-state, Clara stared upwards into the black web of the tree, the occasional star shooting past in slow-motion.

She saw the sun-monster from her first adventure with bowtie-Doctor, and watched her leaf disintegrate in an unfelt wind, its pieces turned to powder and stardust like the rest of the universe... The golden stardust settled into the gas orbs themselves, the new stars, now to new suns in a toxic-green, electric-blue nebula. Soon clouds being syphoned by a black hole engulfed her vision until she swore it was a magnificent eye staring blankly back at her…she felt herself falling forward, disoriented, into the pupil, and her vision tunneling dizzily back to the darkness of a lavender night.

A figure, clad in black, emerged from the trunk of the tree with a low hum, a single ring of golden light circling and sculpting the seemingly gnarled tree from its base to the tips of its branches. The figure's gangly legs stumbled across her outstretched, numbed foot and the humanoid ducked 'round the tree.

_A flash of red silk…_

Clara tried to reach a hand towards it, but her arms had not yet regained adequate feeling. The figure, as black as the nothingness-tree itself, stepped gingerly towards the light thrown by the TARDIS. Panic blossomed in her recovering brain-he _surely_ would not _leave _her like this.

Mustering a breathless croak, she attempted to breach his attention through her frustratingly winded and still-delirious person. _"Doc…tor…"_

She saw the tall, lanky figure stop in its tracks. For a brief moment, it swiveled to face her before another hurried flash of red silk burned in her vision, a contrast of color in the empty blackness.

The lone figure had vanished in the light of an open police box.

And the door of that police box had closed behind him.

Fresh tears of acrimony and confusion burned away the red silk, although she could not feel if the hot liquid rolling down her face was indeed tears, or blood. Clara was left to contemplate her apparent lack of company as her limbs regained feeling, fraught with pins and needles. _Brilliant vanishing act,_ she thought contemptuously, before admonishing herself instantaneously. Her self-reprimanding did naught, for the nasty little bugger of Guilt had already nestled in beneath her sternum, nice and hot and mocking her heart. How could she think that way? She'd betrayed him because she felt she had a veritable reason to do so…_not saying it was right of me, because it wasn't…and I know that. It was very, very wrong_, she scolded herself for what may very well have been a thousandth time. Perhaps this was her fate, her consequences for such a grave betrayal. No...he'd said that she meant more to him than betraying could diminish. And she believed him, with all her single, susceptible human heart. _He must have a very good reason to leave me here_. She wasn't even certain she could move to follow him…

Movement beyond the base of the tree confirmed how very wrong and very not-alone she was.

One thing, she knew for certain was the elephantine, orchid figure blocking her blurred vision. Its head swooped down with unseen grace, a blood-red gullet engulfing her sight...though she had been flung by a bizarre animal into a bizarre tree on a bizarre planet in bizarre circumstances, Clara had been able to regain her wits about her since her head-on collision with the space tree. She rolled, painfully, off the roots of the tree and towards the TARDIS, where she scrambled to rise once again…but the Vilroushka, being an intelligent beast, produced a deafening roar that sent Clara sinking to her knees once more, clinging to the sides of her head, clawing at her ears.

Her hands slick from the cold sweat drenching her hair and neck, they were of no use to her as she was pulled backward by her left foot, her nails raking the redstone at the base of the TARDIS. She screamed as she was pulled back in sudden jerks, as if a dog was playing tug of war with her shoe…which came off with a soft _Schluuuck_, much to her ankle's relief.

The lone Sketcher held no interest to the wild cat. It pawed at Clara, its razor appendages raking deep rivets into the stone on either side her as she evaded its assault with impulsive rolls. Having misjudged a particularly vicious swipe, Clara held up her bare arms for protection as a result of that inherent, too-human instinct. Her arms formed a fleshy barricade over her face as she saw the cat rise to half its height, swiping downward in quick succession with both enormous paws. She rolled on her side, crying out from the old and new pain, clutching her forearms which were now spilling hot crimson onto the front of her already damp tank top. Tiny pools of the thick, hot liquid blossomed on the redstone ground…which, for an instant, she thought would be her deathbed.

End of Chapter 5


	6. Chapter 6: Barely

A strange, high-pitched whimpering sound echoed across the meadow and rocky terrain. The reverberations mildly resembled the whimpers of a litter of puppies, only the individual whimpers came in tetra chords. The cries blended within each other consecutively, producing a sound gentle as the coo of a dove.

The great cat sunk to all fours, its ellipse head turning swiftly towards the cries. Clara recognized the chords as the coos of the kits the Doctor had been showing her before the angry mother had returned to the den…and all of this began.

While the cat was distracted, Clara rolled herself over, grinding her teeth in pain, and began to inch towards the door again. Her head swam and she shut her eyes tight, partly to steady the world, partly to cut off her view of seeing the lifeblood seeping out before her. _I'll make a centimeter and hour like this…_

She tried not to yelp as two long arms looped under her own, catching her by surprise and relief that the dark figure was back for her. Anger rises and she began to protest _how __**dare**__ you leave me to that animal_-by shrugging away her shoulders, but she is too weak and immersed in a pain like none she had experienced before to have any influence in the matter. Physical condition aside, Clara held her tongue in shock as she realized _she had not seen the familiar flash of red silk_ when the figure had come to drag her away…her heart seemed to pound slower in this moment, despite the adrenaline fighting to keep her alert. She felt herself become sluggish, and the pain seemed distant...a relief. A frightening relief, at that. Fear kept her mind ticking away as more feeling was lost among the creeping darkness. They were alone on this meadow, she was sure of it…The old thought of living shadows surfaced in her mind again, a thought that felt lifetimes ago, but in reality, had been less than an hour. How time flies…

She could not tell when the figure had left her, but she felt herself placed between two particularly thick roots of the nothingness tree. Dehydration and blood loss numbed the pain, only to replace it with a dull aching sensation that became her. A musty veil distorted her vision as well as her mind, a kind of blank stupor that was neither peace nor uncomfortable. Though she was exhausted, her eye lids became heavy against her will…she didn't want to sleep…she needed to stay awake and monitor this shadow…..needed…

Her tired eyes struggled to see in the darkness, but the long, orchid head turning to her needed no further details to distinguish its identity. A paw step closer, _thump_…another paw step, _thump_…a speckled paw twice the size of her face stepped down in front of her, _thump_…sleek, ink-black claws curved to a razor-point glistened in the TARDIS light, one paw rising in slow-motion off the ground-

The form of the Vilroushka was instantaneously outlined by a growing white light close behind it; the muscled shoulders tensed as the wild cat grew cognizant of the lengthening shadows. The light grew, causing a chill-inducing ray of warped light to glisten off the terribly large canines of the great panther. A fresh wave of dread offered an escape for Clara to come to her senses—achieving a blast of clarity from the fog that was her mind—relying solely on the survival instinct to flee at the mere ferocity of the beast. The instinct that told her to feel alive once more…one last time, possibly…

But all her brain was able to do was to tell her to raise her head, a newfound aching beginning at the base of her skull as she peered onward, towards the light befuddling the Vilroushka.

The peppered wilder beast began lifting and stomping its trash-can-lid paws in agitation at the blinding light; being a night prowler, the Vilroushka was unaccustomed to the antithesis of its most active time: a rare, moonless night comparable to a starless universe. An ear-splitting yowl emerged from its throat as it scrambled awkwardly, looking to back away from the light. Its feline tail whooshed sharply in front of Clara as the light pulsed and grew in intensity. A soft hum reverberated in the lavender medium…she swore she could feel it quake within the dusted redstone.

As the beast turned away into the night, Clara saw the shadowy figure once more, now a triumphant silhouette before the pulsing orb of white light. The figure turned to face her, stepping towards her, the silver wisps shining in the diminishing light as if being sucked away into its own black hole of cavernous space…The night expanded, engulfed her vision and mind until there was naught but a moonless, starless night to accompany her. She could do this no longer. The muscles in her neck gave way against her will. Her brain forced itself into sleep mode until it could compensate for the damage her body had attained. Her cinnamon eyes still gazing fixedly into the amethyst darkness, her mind gave way. Her eyelids remained half-closed as the cinnamon seemed to fade instantaneously into a dustier, dull brown. Her jaw slacked just enough to part cracked, bleeding lips.

The night had swallowed away the bright lights, and the Vilroushka had fled. Only the black figure remained beneath the moonless sky, surrounded by a grayish cloud—light-residue of its Vilroushka-disarming device. It began to walk slowly and deliberately towards Clara's body.

Before it could venture nearer to the limp, beaten form and the space-tree, the TARDIS emitted the familiar grating, wheezing, whining noise so many have come to adore. The light pulsed at the top. The figure withdrew its course as Clara's person began to shine with light as well, a golden shine equivalent to that of the energy rings of the space tree. The defeated body lay awkwardly across the roots, limbs at various odd angles and head hanging dejectedly backwards; her throat's curve was illuminated by the pulses of light, emphasizing its vulnerability. The figure observed the glazed, half-open eyes with distaste and pocketed the light-wand.

As Clara vanished with the pulse and wheezing of the TARDIS, its royal blue doors opened with an unceremonious squeak, casting a strange golden light on the gritty redstone. The Doctor stepped out quickly in his magician's apparel, proud of his successful vanishing act. He faced the figure, both clouded hazily by the strange gray residue-fog. The Doctor could not clearly see his adversary, though the other had a clear view of all from within its misty domain.

"Give me your coat; your companion is in need of medical attention and you are required elsewhere," said the shadow. Its voice seemed monotone, as sound was warped as well as sight in their current atmosphere. "Who are you?" demanded the Doctor, "and why on Gallifrey would you need my coat?" He felt himself being fixed with an imploring yet impatient stare. "Trust me. Give me your coat. There's no time for resistance." The Doctor could see the figure was moving, though the direction was unclear. "I have the activation device for the Vilroushka kit's whining."

The Doctor had emerged from the space-tree with the intent of leading the Vilroushka away by activating the whines of its kits, but had discovered, in a panic-induced terror, that he was without the device. It had been then that he fled into the TARDIS after seeing Clara was apart from the beast.

The Doctor began to step forward, exasperation apparent on his features…until he felt a sticky resistance at the bottom of his shoe. He had been standing in something wet and dark…turning slightly to allow the TARDIS' pale light through, he saw he'd been standing in a pool of darkness. Crimson and unmistakably human, judging by its metallic stench and thin viscosity. His attack eyebrows knit together in frustration, and he blinked slowly. Now rigid and extremely cross, the Doctor spun to face the figure prepared to spew some harsh Scottish invectives his way. _He must have been there while Clara was being shredded, _he surmised.

"_Resistance?_ Don't talk about bloody resistance. I'm _resisting_ the urge to bludgeon you against that godforsaken tree-"

The figure held up a hand; clenched tightly in his fist was a glinting metal object. The fog obscured the Doctor's view, and he knew any harm to him was wasted time. A weighted silence hung on the Doctor's shoulders. Clara could be in great danger…in his mind's eye he hung his head for allowing his Impossible Girl to fall to another danger. Without him, she would not suffer. She would not be spilling lifeblood on the stones of some unfamiliar planet, and she would not have died countless times protecting his sorry-

"As you were saying…" echoed the black figure.

A fresh wave of bitter rage shivered down his spine and unsettled his hearts.

"Resisting," he spat. "_Barely_."

"Give me your coat. I will tend to Clara, and you must do your part."

"Why should I allow you in my TARDIS? My friend is wounded and is clearly" he motioned to his boots "in dire need of medical attention. I don't like you anyway, so why in the name of Rassilon's beard should I not return to my ship and blast off this deathscape?!" His Scottish accent rumbled the r's, allowing him to be properly angry. Waving an impatient hand through the mist, the Doctor trudged on towards his TARDIS with a gruff "_Och!_ You're wasting my time." A "…my coat indeed…" was barely audible as his boot splashed minutely.

"Simple. Don't you trust me?" A whir of glinting metal shone against the TARDIS light, and the strange metal object came arcing towards the Doctor. Catching it easily with his long fingers, the Doctor examined the object by TARDIS-light, breathing deeply in the sluggishly dispersing fog. Contact with the object had an almost immediate effect. His experienced face curled in amusement..."Ooooh that's cheating, that is." He looked at the figure with newfound curiously, and proceeded to take off his coat.

Approaching the figure, his face became clearer. His hearts not completely trusting, and still smoldering with misdirected anger, the Doctor's own gray eyes pierced the paleness of the stranger's.

An understanding.

He did not know him. He predicted he never truly would. Funny thing, the future. One never can tell…

Nonetheless, the Doctor handed over his magician's coat, TARDIS key still in pocket, and gripped the sturdy cylinder of metal firmly, his knuckles white with mounting anxiety.

The lapel-less Doctor stood amidst the mist as he allowed, _barely_, this distrusting stranger to minutely stroke the door of his TARDIS with spidery fingers before casting a wary glance at him. The stranger grinned, he gleaming teeth mocking him from the threshold, a veritable Cheshire cat. He disappeared into the TARDIS. The doors shut slowly behind him, and the Doctor just stood there.

As the silvery midst cleared, his head seemed to clear as well. His eyebrows furrowed yet again…what had he done? No key, no TARDIS…Clara injured with some distasteful illusionist prowling around…

_What on Gallifrey was he thinking!?_

Panic spiked in his hearts, and he visibly flinched as the lock of his TARDIS door clicked sharply in the amethyst darkness.


	7. Chapter 7: Charms of the Jungle

_My tardi(s)ness is inexcusable, and I apologize. I've had things written out for a while but couldn't bring myself to publish them. I fount myself tangled in my own plot for a while, and it took quite a few cups of coffee to unravel. Here goes._

_Thanks for not forgetting me... :)_

* * *

_Hours earlier, during the pursuit of the Vilroushka- The Doctor has offered the obvious, irritating advice of "Run!", and Clara continues to do just that. She sees his jacket glinting across the night, and hope blossoms within her core. The timelord races, an idea still forming in the back of his mind._

A wide grin still stretched across his pale, lined face, the Doctor raced towards the adjacent blackness. An intimidating jungle sped to meet him, as if sensing the urgency…_well, the thrill. Exhilarating…the adventure of it all never ceases to amaze me, even after all this time…_He allowed a slight nod of appreciation for his regeneration ability, imperceptible to the night as a puff of his frigid breath escaped into the lavender haze. A new light shed on any situation allows for even the slightest wonders to be unveiled, realized, and remembered. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he witnessed Clara still running for her life. The Vilroushka was gaining in great strides.

Hearts thrumming in his ears, the Doctor's field of vision shrank dramatically as he approached the jungle threshold. The amethyst night's majesty against the face of an iridescent, green jungle was quite a sight to see. It was vast. A dreamlike vast of such ultimate envelopment one longed and feared to enter; the chaos of the wild drew one in by one's very soul and yet its bedraggled appearance admonished entry. The purest, foulest jungle—a raging sea of pensive land.

Gray eyes dilated, the timelord slowed to a stop in awe…even countless seasons paled in comparison to the awesome struggle before him. He stood within feet of the wall of the beast, carefully separated from the industrial meadow. A flicker of familiarity sparked in the back of his mind, a smile escaping around shallow huffs of breath. _Into the __Heart of Darkness__ it is…_memories of flitting his thumb over the soft edge of the novella's pages warmed his chilled person in a minute wave. _Conrad, you tormented man…I think a visit wouldn't be amiss…_Straightening up, the Doctor brushed back his coat ends and took an eager step into the heart of this foreign darkness.

And was smacked squarely in the face by a thick, well-aimed branch.

A long-legged figure stepped over the Doctor's unconscious form, and stooped down close to his body amid the cover of the ever-restless jungle shadows. A pigmy owl-frog crooned close by, its reverberations drowning easily with the other cackles, hoots, mewls, and shuffles of the night. Crafty hands reached into the Doctor's blood-red coat, extracting the sonic screw driver soundlessly. The same hands looped themselves around the Doctor's boney frame and hauled him deeper into the black jungle. The timelord's silver head drooped lazily to his chest, a black-eye to form where the blow was most powerful; this was the only evidence of a commotion, for the ancient man had come to an otherwise peaceful halt in running through time.

The trail of discarded canopy debris would be nearly imperceptible, night or day.

The Doctor vanished from the part in the trees that was his entrance, and seemed swallowed by the mastery of the alien jungle.

The shadow, however, was busy at work. After it completed its mission of dragging the 2000 year-old through the thick jungle to some predetermined point, the sonic screwdriver had been clicked to a specific setting and placed carefully in the Doctor's coat pocket, just even with his left heart. Bits of metal, random technology (including an electric toothbrush), and anything magnetic were extracted from his crimson coat folds as well. The result of minutes of fiddling, an activation switch for the whirring sonic screwdriver was constructed.

Retreating to the wild darkness, the shadow lay in wait.


	8. Chapter 8: Something Important

_This chapter was written while I was high after having my wisdom teeth removed. I don't really remember writing this...just kinda found it :P_

_But it works! Enjoy!_

* * *

_Back to the present time- Clara is inside the time ship after the attack of the Vilroushka._

_Clara has materialized onto the floor of the TARDIS control room, the metal grates her feather bed and familiar bedroom ceiling. She lay on her back, still completely out. Her mind was blank, and for these moments, she did not exist. _

Scarlet tales twirling, the Doctor entered the room with a quick snap of the lock. He couldn't have the other humanoid bursting in on any moment; all would be screwed up, to put it plainly. How a timelord can be…he'd nearly forgotten his heritage. Sighing, he pressed his head against the interior of the door and shut his eyes. A tiring day…Clara and he had been on 2 other adventures previous to the industrial-agricultural feats of a lavender-world-with-twin-suns field trip. The adorable white-striped panther kits the size of black bears were certain to lighten the mood. And they had…for a bit. The first trip was peaceful, the second, not so much—which is why they _had_ to come here (to end on a good note). A good note indeed. "An earsplitting, mutli-octave yowl, to be precise,"the Doctor mumbled bitterly. To real her back in, in a sense. To get her appreciating the wonders he had to offer _not that I actually own anything_. Oh Clara. He just wasn't ready to lose the first face this face saw. He needed her to want to stay, to need as he needed.

_Waaaait a minute._

_I'm forgetting something…something ridiculously important—_

_CLARA!_

Pale gray eyes snapped open, and the 2000 year-old man whipped around with hearts leaping in anxiety. Breaking into a strange, sprint-waddle of questionable balance, the Doctor was at Clara's side in a flash, hands outstretched in concern. Kneeling by her side, he was overcome.

His stinging eyes couldn't take all this in at once. _Clara. _

The first he _could _take in was the scarlet. Dripping from a sharp gash on the side of her head, coating her earthy hair in a sickening reddish slick. Surface cuts along her once-porcelain face were now encrusted with blotchy redstone dust, more red covering harsh bruises. His breath whistled through clenched teeth as he delicately traced the outline of the next wound.

Her right arm and leg glistened with raw, shining flesh- skinned from some horrific, sliding fall. Further pools of scarlet rose from this fragile human's being. A cringe creased the timelord's face…a hand rested on Clara's shoulder gently.

The grip tightened to unintended clawing as his eyes locked themselves on her forearms. Both consisted of sickening, thready strips of skin…he located strings of muscles torn from their pairings like licorice, a glint of pale bone could be seen through the deepest gash. White scratches framed the horror. He couldn't let it go.

Transfixed, traitorous memories began to inch back into his mind…not forgetting anymore…his eyes grew unfocused and his hand fell to his side. He could physically feel the memories flooding back in a rush of cool, tingling blood up his neck. Blood trickled slowly from the defeated human's feebly clotting flesh, running down through the grates of the floor. A drop fell beneath, onto the heated, living TARDIS' column skirt beneath…..._hiisssssss_

The Doctor straightened up at the sound, clearing his head with more urgency than this regeneration had ever mustered before. Non-too gently, the Doctor thrust two fingers just below Clara's jawline and against her neck. A single throb was felt beneath still, steady hands. He heard another hiss of a blood droplet dissipating at the heat of the TARDIS core. Another slow, sluggish, struggling throb was felt beneath his fingertips.

With mounting dread, he leaned over Clara with long legs on either side of her torso, wielding the grace of a wounded sparrow. Patting her cold face, he stooped further and further with his own. His nose was now less than an inch from her battered face, slick with cold sweat and a sickly gray that weighed down his hearts. Her complexion reminded him of Danny…a comparison adding to the weight in his hearts and the urgency of his actions.

"Clara Clara Clara Clara _Clara_! Can you hear me? You need to wake oop!" he hissed, patting her face all the while. His wide eyes inflated as hers have so many times before. Her slick head merely lolled to one side, her face now resting against the grated floor. "Noonoonoonoo Noo you're not supposed to do that! Stop doing that!" Leaping to one side of her, he seized her hand roughly and began patting it. What was he doing…he didn't know. He didn't know what to do; _I'm not that kind of doctor._ Had she been poisoned, fine; he was a chemistry genius. Something wrong with the mind, also fine; he had the telepathic relays of the TARDIS to help, as well as his own inherent abilities.

But physical abrasions? _Especially wounds this serious…__hiisssssss_

The putrid scent of burned blood assailed his nostrils, the hiss startling him into action once more. The TARDIS column shifted and whined loudly. "I know, I know! I'm doing…something…" he reached a milky hand to his grayed head, scratching absentmindedly…he began pacing in quick strides, knowing that time was ticking for his Teach. The stress of the situation and mixed, unattended emotions began to barricade himself from his hearts. "Although, there's bound to be more copies out there-"he reasoned. The TARDIS lights flashed in anger and he threw up his hands in mock defeat. "-but I know that there is a limited supply and no other copy would be quite like this." The lights dimmed back to their usual lighting, though the TARDIS seemed to be growling. With a reapproving glare, the Doctor continued to pace, panting in shallow breaths. His attack eyebrows softened and knit into the strangled, overwhelmed expression of being trapped within his own mind.

Under his breath, he muttered "It's not like I'm going to dump her here; I'd take her back home first. She'd be in hospital and I'd say it was a rogue tiger or some nonsensical story those daft pudding brains would believe. Her people would stitch her up the best they knew how…" his head cocked to one side as he reconsidered the possibility, his stressed persona melting into one of unperturbed calm, "…or not." A manic, satirical grin stretched across his face as he continued nonchalantly, stopping with his hands comfortably in his pockets. "And I could go hunting for another copy. Start over at my leisure. Or simply go off on my own again. No dates, no boyfriends, no students, no arrogant little-"

And he stopped dead, realizing he was standing on something soft. Looking down at his beloved Teach, he saw vibrant cinnamon eyes inflating viciously at him, and a gray complexion flushed with the heat of anger and disbelief…Clara Oswald had awoken. The Doctor stared at her in shock as he withdrew his boot from over her outstretched hand.


	9. Chapter 9: Jumbled

_Hours earlier, back in the jungle. The Doctor lay in the alien wilderness, at the will of the shadow-man. Clara is still running._

The Doctor lay under the shadowed canopy, having been dragged to a small pit lined with moist soil and rotting understory debris. The bordering trees had been snapped and trampled, miniature tooth and claw assaults visible on their honed bark. Veritable scratching posts, the lot of them.

And still the timelord lay, unmoving and tranquil. Breathing in…out…in…out, the humid, scented understory air. Scented with the sweet, pungent airs of the rotting leaves, trampled mushrooms, something that smelled like a moose…The Doctor sniffed and adjusted his head on his warm, soft, cat-scented pillow. _Cat-scented? And…moving._

His eyes snapped open with the snore of some incredible beast, his face whiter than normal with alarm…his sonic was whirring, interrupting the natural lullabies of the forest. As his head rose with the gigantic sigh of this beast, he carefully, gently sat up and cautiously surveyed the area. Alarm melted into shear relief and a satisfied grin as the Doctor realized he was lying atop one of the 6 bear-sized, roly-poly Vilroushka kits. They all slept in this cozy little pit, cuddling each other and rolling over with adorable puppy whines that revealed fearsome little kit-fangs and displayed gaping maws. He stood soundlessly, observing the purple tint of the night upon their white, speckled hides. A cool breeze unsettled the air around him, sending a refreshing rustle—a sigh—through the drowsy stillness. As it would happen, he had been standing down-wind.

The nearest kit sniffed in its sleep, a pink triangle nose twitching. Its lips parted slightly as it opened all four of its tiny, beetle-black eyes sleepily. It stared at the Doctor, who, by now, had been attempting to climb out of the pit but was failing miserably due to the sheer slickness of the wet, rotting leaves and thick mud. Sniffing again, it mewled curiously at him. The Doctor froze and faced the babe in defeat. Lumbering towards him with the awkwardness Clara had described as "too good" with a wide smile, it stumbled over its sibling with an audible wail. The Doctor smiled wryly and watched the alien bear-panthers stir. He stood amused as the wail awaked another two Vilroushkas, one flicking its tail in another's sleeping face, the other stretching and flipping another over…the nest was soon a furry mess of bumbling activity. "Living Dominos, you lot are," he tutted fondly, and, gazing at their young coats, he added, "…fuzzy, noisy, bear-shaped Dominos." The Doctor rolled his eyes. Let the mewling commence.

A particularly plump kit made its way to the Doctor and sniffed him up and down, pawing at him until he obliged it with a friendly pat. It rolled over on his foot, which, in yanking it free, sent him sprawling into the 6th kit, who awoke with an irritated yelp. The kits soon forgot him, tackling each other and destroying more of the trees bordering the nest. Finally able to grip a recently-split tree, the Doctor hauled himself out of the nest. Sighing at the 6 reasons Clara and him came to Riaco 4, the Doctor extracted his still whirring sonic screwdriver.

A few blinks of the screen told him it had been recording the whines, mewls, and barks of the Vilroushkas. Switching it off with toothy grin set upon his face, he moved to pocket it. An odd contraption met his touch. Pulling it from his dimensionally transcendental pockets, he found a small object consisting of miscellaneous bits from his pockets- a dust-bunny of metal and wire scraps. It was an activation device linked to his sonic screwdriver. Confidence soothing the returning urgency of the situation, the Doctor picked through the jungle vegetation, hoping the path he cut lead him towards the edge of the darkness.

* * *

_Hours later. The Doctor stands alone, locked outside his own TARDIS in a dissipating fog. The stranger had entered his TARDIS, was alone with Clara…he did not trust him. Not entirely. Confused, he shivers minutely, cursing the man internally for taking his coat. _

The Doctor heaves a sigh and looks to the darkened amethyst heavens, a clear night lit only by faraway stars. And, of course, his TARDIS. He was exhausted. There was no patience left in him. Stepping morosely out of the sickening pool of his best friend's blood, he set to examining the activation device. It seemed to have been scavenged from the contents of his coat pockets earlier. Running a thumb along his Frankenstein sonic toothbrush, he peered into the vast jungle creeping up from the gloomy horizon. _What was he supposed to do? What was his role in this?_

All at once, something snapped. His eyebrows shot up as connections formed, his spidery hands brought to his head in understanding and joy; a short whoop escaped from chapped lips. The adventurer's smile stole onto his face, a lopsided grin which could have been perceived as a sneer. He knew what was going on. _Finally._

Determination pulsing through his binary vascular system, he ran. Ran straight into the path of the space-tree. At full pelt, he jumped into it; a series of books climbed out of the reaches of his mind…he recalled certain plucky young individuals running into the brick columns between Platforms 9 and 10.

At the vertex of his leap, the tree enveloped him, a breathtaking ring of golden energy pulsing through the trunk of the tree. The silver Doctor's lopsided smirk growing in enthusiasm, he clung to his toothbrush.

_Well, isn't that wizard._

His vision betrayed him, and a new dimension of sense, undetectable by humans, enveloped his person. Beyond feeling the turn of the planet and the gravitational pull of its suns, beyond the timeless, nameless nothingness described feebly as "time," lay the contentment and utter tranquility of existence itself. The inevitable, yet impossibly random coincidence of Life. Beyond the controversies of ontology. It was strong within this time-tree, and the Doctor basked in it. Had the sensation been less than it was, he would heaved a sigh of tremulous emotion, a minute smile felt on the corners of his thin lips. Alas, it was simply too great. The dimension of sense transcending words themselves, only to be experienced—never granted their full majesty unless experience was the medium of communication. And how utterly grand it was.

The Doctor felt himself pulled away from this powerful sense, a vacuum spilling him out of a second tree and into a darkened, restless forest. Stumbling blindly into the blackness, his eyes adjust enough for him to evade a thick tree and steady himself wearily. Physically shaking the ecstasy from his brain, he listened to the forest breathe. Amid the calming rustles and crackles carried by unseen, unfelt breezes, he detected sighs and whines. Surpassing these with his superior hearing abilities, the Doctor focused in on the hurried thumping of a long-legged idiot currently crashing through the silver meadow just beyond the jungle. Eyes snapping open, he felt his sense of hearing withdraw sharply like an elastic band, slapping him mildly before he assumed his journey.

Rubbing his own tender eye, he regretted the repercussions but knew it had to be done. It had already been done, anyway.

Slipping through the uneven growths of the understory, the coat-less Doctor strode to meet the long-legged idiot with a well-aimed branch to the face.

* * *

_After clambering out of the Vilroushka kit's nest, the Doctor stumbles blindly through the jungle, relying solely on his sense of direction. Panting, he slides to an abrupt halt before a tree towering blacker and deeper than any he'd seen…the heart of this darkness._

Eyebrows furrowed in exertion, his sparkling eyes betrayed his disappointment. Rarely could he ever feel this sense so strongly. It's alluring intensity eased his thoughts, smoothing the ripples and complexities into a still pool of reflection. An atrocious roar jarred his thoughts, his acute hearing zoning in on a faint cry. _Clara. _So far away. He spun around, sprinting pell-mell in the direction of the skirmish, in the direction of the edge of the enthralling darkness.

Lurching his thoughts away from fabricating a horror that was Clara's predicament, the Doctor reached the edge of the jungle. Squinting across the glimmering meadow, he spotted the peppered beast raising a hefty paw to bat her away from the TARDIS. Knowing the futility of calling out, the Doctor bit hard on his lip and bent down to work quickly, to position the screwdriver-now-microphone to lure the Vilroushka back to her nest. Fumbling to untangle a wire, he stole another look. His 5 foot 1 friend flew across the enclosure, tumbling into the base of the twin of the time-tree he had only just encountered. _She'll be fine. She's a tough one._

Wrapping one end of the sonic in the wire, he wound the rest tightly around a young tree, adjusting the angle accordingly. His head snapped upwards at the multi-octave growl reverberating across the meadow. Clara lay motionless. The beast was advancing. Legs carrying him faster than this body had ever run before, he flashed back into the darkness, back through the path he forged, back to the time-tree portal. The adrenaline and fear coursing through his pressured veins tunneled his vision as well as his other senses. And so he ran, heedless of the sly, boney hand which slipped the activation device out of his coat pocket. Entering the time-tree, the Doctor was lost to the jungle.


	10. Chapter 10: Truth

_I know it's been a ridiculously long time, but I finally patched up the odds and ends of this one. I hope you enjoy this,_

_Sorry for the wait_

* * *

_The Doctor uses the jungle's time-tree as a time and space portal to its sister; Clara lay at the base of the tree, the TARDIS light illuminating the scene drearily._

_The Vilroushka pads forward, hungry and menacing._

Torn too soon from the majesty of the time-tree, the Doctor emerged on twisted black roots. His TARDIS in sight, he clambers carelessly over a long, fleshy mushroom or something of the like—it's too dark to see for sure, and has more pressing matters to attend to. Feet away from the oblong mushroom, he hears a croak.

_"__Doc…tor…"_

No. This, this isn't right…slowly, painfully, his double heartbeat pummeling his ears…he turns his head towards the sound. Towards Clara. That single, pained rasp had the power to stop time itself, it seemed. He saw her body splayed across the hard black roots, a forgotten, stained marionette. _I can't take you with me, _he thought, reaching into his pocket. The transport would be initiated upon the signaling of the activation device, and he'd be in the TARDIS with her, just as they always were, and everything would be fine.

The tips of his fingers made contact with the bottom of his coat-pocket lining. His body stood cold and rigid while is hands made a mad dash to explore every pocket, his eyes frantically searching the ground. Whirling in an awkward circle, he heard Clara again, her cry drowned by the roar of the deafening wild cat…and he ran. He just ran, throwing himself into the TARDIS. He could transport her inside via the connection with her TARDIS key. Racing to the console of his familiar, welcoming machine, he peers at the telescreen just in time to see the cat upon Clara. Fingers flying in frustration, he releases he can't get a lock on her, not with the cat on top of her like this. He might bring it inside, or splice the DNA of both—a blinding white light appeared on the left of the screen. Looking up, a far-off memory of a patronus is stirred, all silvery and white and otherworldly and hopeful.

The blast of light drove away the Vilroushka, leaving Clara alone on the eerily-shadowed redstone once more. He understood now. Although he had proved to be victorious in this whole affair, he felt every bit the _failure_ in this operation. Clara had been injured. He'd wanted so badly to be her knight in shining armor at every moment he could: this is what bowtie had initially become infatuated with, saving her in the nick of time…but this face had competed with a lover, and lost on the grounds of emotional comfort. Of words, and of physical contact. The most basic things. He was not cut out to be her knight after all, and the truth of this blow made his hearts heavy, his knees weak. He tried. He always tried, and would never stop. The adventures had become all he had to offer…

As he sulked to open the doors, he looked back, realizing Clara had materialized on the grates as he surfaced from his own thoughts. Turning away in shame of his detachedness, he stepped outside to face the patronus man.


	11. Chapter 11: Goodnight

_Clara has awoken on the floor of the TARDIS console room, the Doctor staring down at her. The tension of betrayal pollutes the still air._

Her bloodied lips were parted in an unforgiving O, trembling with either emotion or as a product of her physical state, he didn't know. Didn't care. He was _jesting_, he didn't really mean…would _never_…

The Doctor's thoughts flew broken within his supreme, timelord mind, at a loss for what to do. His mouth opened and closed, his voice hesitant to work properly. He licked his chapped, thin lips and broke eye-contact, staring at the grated floor in shame. Clara's ragged panting was the only sound in the room. Even the TARDIS had ceased her usual groans and whines.

In a small, low voice, the Doctor croaked, "Clara, I-"

"Can we do this later? Please?" she managed, cutting him off in shallow gasps. He crouched beside her and set her left arm gingerly around his neck. The pain in her voice was enough to cause fresh tears to burn treacherously in his eyes. His Clara. With one arm around her back and the other clutching her hand, the Doctor hauled her to her feet with a grimace. Regret and sympathy weighed down his hearts so much he thought they'd stop beating. The small human cried out whenever her arms were moved or her entire right side was touched, limping along towards the corridor with his help…she winced with every step. Each time the pain became too much to bare, he'd rub his thumb affectionately against her hand and hush her softly.

Turning slowly into the first room (compliments of the TARDIS), the lights flickered on. Not that it made a difference anyway. The room itself was pitch black, with a single silver medical table in the center of the room. Clara was visibly crying by the time the two made it to the table. As she lost her battle of containment, he helped her onto the table and held her face in his hands. Wiping her tears with his thumbs, he gazed into her battered face. Scratched and dust-covered, beaten and broken, scraped and torn…and his Teach had sustained a strong demeanor, not faltering for so long. Her eyes locked onto his for a moment before his previous words re-entered his mind. His gaze faltered, he closed his eyes, and leaned forwards. Resting his forehead on her brow, he raised his hands to the sides of her head. Ignoring the blood beneath his fingertips, he stroked her hair behind her ears and gently touched her temples.

"I'm sorry, Clara. I'm sorry I failed to protect you yet again. I'm sorry I said…" his words caught in his throat before he swallowed and continued, "I didn't know," he rumbled. Reaching into her mind with his own, he walked among the dull glows of aches and the lightening stabs of pain her nerves were experiencing…soothing them the best he could, he felt a small sigh of hot breath wash over him. An uneasy weight appeared as a lump in his throat as his grip of her consciousness lessened. Not the simple, awake-or-not consciousness, but the spark of life and being itself. It was shockingly, frustratingly weak. Retreating with uncertainty, he willed her to lay down and rest on the metal slab of the black room. She trembled on the table, a great shudder racking her body as another tear rolled down her tear-streaked face. Striding deliberately out of the black room, the Doctor flipped a switch and closed the door, peering through a pane of glass.

Lying in the dark, Clara's pain reduction was lulling her into an exhausted sleep. Eyes open in futility, she gazed blankly into the blackness. Her mind devoid of thought. She simply existed. The static of a com device intruded the peaceful silence. "pssshhhhClara, I need you to stay awake just a tad longer. I'm releasing the nanogenes now. Hold on a bit longer. Use that damned stubbornness…

_do not go gentle into that goodnight_."

A soft golden glow appeared above her, humming minutely in a soft monotonous tone. Beads of the light separated and swirled down to her, twisting into wide helices and spiraling in an entrancing dance. She inhaled steeply, adoring the light and wishing to see their majesty…but a far more pressing matter overcame her. A memory spilled forth from the recesses of her mind, a memory of a thousand and one emotions. A memory wrapped around the dying of the light.

A soft smile curling the corners of her cut lips, she breathed, "Run, you clever old man…" The Doctor's hearts froze behind the door. "CLARA!" he roared into the com. Flooded with emotions he couldn't begin to describe, he pounded his fists against the door, the anger and sadness and regret and shame and loss exploding within him. Slamming both fists and head against the door, he felt his nose become wet and cool. He didn't care. His TARDIS whined at his self-inflicted punishments and the frailty of those strays he insisted on caring for, on making their ephemeral lives more thrilling.

The nanogenes were upon Clara now. Lighting up her entire body, they set to repairing the flesh. She felt muscles knit themselves back together in an uncomfortable mesh, her skin literally crawling back into place…her words persisted: "…and remember…" The Doctor pummeled the door again. If he entered the room, the nanogenes would become confused, unsure whether he was a mutated human or she a damaged timelord, whether they were two species or one. It was dangerous for the both of them…

A proposition stark as lightening flashed through his mind as he rested his head against the door, panting. _A damaged timelord…_

She could stay with him, this way. For as long as time itself. Bewitched by the exhilaration of a rash decision, the Doctor rushed forward into the door again, screwdriver ready to magnetize the seal- but the TARDIS would not allow it. He threw himself headlong into the door, and found himself inside of the control room, staggering to regain his footing. He stood, threw his head back, and cursed the TARDIS. "Let me DO this!" he bellowed.

Skidding back to the nanogene-door, the Doctor's head cleared, his anger dissipating at the sight of the marvel before him, through the lens of the icing-glass window.

Clara's form was engulfed in the golden particles of light. Nanogenes swirled around her and through her, the golden bits of light doing their work admirably. The sight was beautiful. Hope blossomed from the ashes of sorrow and anger, and he stepped closer to the glass. His soul a phoenix, he waited with bated breath, returning his screwdriver absentmindedly. Stroking the battered door frame, he whispered, "Sorry old girl. You were right."

The light of the black room ceased to exist in a flash of darkness.

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

The door clicked open, its despairing echo ringing restlessly through the black room.

_Do not go gentle into that goodnight._

A shaft of pale light shone from the open doorway. A stray nanogene disappeared through a vent, the fireflies having given up or emerged victorious. In the very least, it was finished. In long echoing steps, the Doctor walked along the shaft in a century's worth of time. His slim shadow cast before him with each step, its steps echoing as his echoed…perhaps his only companion now…joints trembling with anticipation and dread, the Doctor brought himself to her side slowly. Soft lights flickered on from an unknown source, casting odd shadows about them.

There she lay. No gashes, no stringy muscle, and no tears. Brushing an out-of-place lock of brown behind her ear, he saw her breathe in deeply at the contact. The breath of consciousness—supplying oxygen to her brain and heart and bloodstream and his own hearts too, it seemed. Her eyelids opened languidly, and he drank in those warm, cinnamon eyes of familiarity and comfort.

"Have a nice nap?" he inquired, his Scottish burr reverberating through the walls.

* * *

And this is it. I'd be glad to answer any questions about the chronology of everything

I hope it was to your liking :)


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